Sub Dio
by Golden Moon Huntress
Summary: Seventy Five years of the Hunger Games have passed, and now we celebrate the Third Quarter Quell. AU!
1. Prologue

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

This is not a SYOT. It's more of an experimental piece than anything, focused around an alternative Third Quarter Quell and written in drabble form focused around the tributes.

* * *

The Seventy Fifth Hunger Games.

The Third Quarter Quell.

Panem held its breath.

Mothers held their daughters; fathers held their sons; siblings held their hands.

Across Panem, citizens were sat at home, watching the mandatory broadcast, or stood in the streets and town squares, staring up at the big screen.

The President stood at the podium. Her hair had been dyed lilac recently, curled gently around her fragile looking face, but Exsequia Crimson was anything but delicate. Her green eyes were hard, and her smile fake as she overlooked her audience, both in the Capitol and in the Districts.

"People of Panem!"

Those in the Capitol applaud. Those in the richer Districts smile a little; those in the poorer ones flinch.

"Seventy Five years ago this year the Dark Days were brought to an end and the Capitol stood triumphant! As penance for their sins, it was ruled that every year, each District was to provide two tributes to battle in a great arena!"

The Hunger Games.

The bane of Panem.

"It was written in the charter of the Games that every twenty five years there shall be held a Quarter Quell to remind Panem of the pain and suffering the rebels caused. For the First Quarter Quell, _as a reminder to the rebels that their children were dying because of their choice to initiate violence, every District held an election to select their tributes._

_For the Second Quarter Quell, to remind the rebels that for every Capitol citizen to die, two rebels were killed, each District sent twice the normal amount of tributes._

And now, for the year of the Seventy Fifth Hunger Games."

A small girl in a pale blue dress appeared at the edge of the stage, carrying a yellowed envelope on a red cushion. She presented it to the President, who slowly slit it open.

Panem held its breath.

"For the Third Quarter Quell, as a reminder to the rebels of how the Capitol has absolute power over their lives and fate, tributes are to be reaped in private and taken direct from their homes to the arena, which they will enter with no guidance or preparation."


	2. Chapter I

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

Thank you Professor R.J Lupin and goldie for the follows, and empressakura655 for the follow, favourite, and review!

Here's the first chapter, which is a better demonstration of how the story is written and structured.

* * *

_d5f_

Unthinkable.

At least with the reaping you knew it was happening.

At least with the preparation, you could speak to the mentors.

At least with the time before the Games, you could prepare.

But this—

You could be taken from your home at any time.

You could be dumped in the arena with nothing.

Clyde whispers her name, still staring at the screen. "What if—"

They didn't even know when they would come.

Would it be today, after the announcement?

In two months, when the reaping should have been?

When?

"I don't want to die."

"Clyde," she says, "help me grab mum's medical books."

(they read until its dark and their eyes hurt and the next day they do it again and again and again as the days pass)

* * *

_d8m_

He switches off the TV as his sister begins to cry.

"I don't want to die."

None of them did.

Their homes were meant to be places they could relax and be comfortable.

Their homes were meant to be safe.

But the Capitol had power over all.

They are going to be dragged from their homes.

They are going to be thrown into the arena.

He hugs his sister tight and tells himself not to cry.

* * *

_d6f_

Life went on.

School was dull, everyday life was duller.

She laughs with her friends, teases her sister, eats supper with her grandparents. She washes on a morning, combs her chestnut hair, smiles for her teachers and groans at her homework.

She thinks of the Hunger Games sometimes, of the poor unfortunate souls who are going to be torn from their homes and families and thrown into the arena.

But then something comes along to distract her, shiny and new, and, well, Trucker Johnson is pretty good looking.

(and he's even better when you're snogging him behind the bike shed your hands down his pants and his hands under your blouse)

* * *

_d6m_

He wonders when it will happen, and the question turns over and over and over in his head, echoing behind his ears.

No reaping.

No preparation.

No way of knowing when they would come.

When would it be?

In the morning, when families are about?

During school hours, when the children are all gathered at hubs?

In the evening, when everyone's tired?

When when when?

It weighed heavy on his shoulders, just as it weighed heavy on his sister's. She was twelve, only twelve, and terrified they would come for her.

He couldn't blame her.

Maybe they would.

* * *

_d3m_

He hasn't been reaped before.

He figures his odds are good.

So he goes about his day, studying during school hours and working the shop during his down time. He's one of the lucky ones; he has no tesserae.

(he worries sometimes in the dark of night laying awake and wondering hoping pleading that it wont be his name they pick)

The approaching Quarter Quell looms over them all, and District Three trembles at the knowledge two of their children are going to be snatched away without warning and sent to die without guidance.

He tells himself it won't be him, and yet he worries.

* * *

_d10m_

He's thirteen.

His name is in the bowl twice.

His brother is sixteen.

His name is in the bowl five times.

He's twice as likely to be selected.

He's never going to volunteer if it's not him they come for.

But he's thirteen.

His name is in the bowl twice.

It won't be him.

Jeremy Farmer is eighteen.

His name is in the bowl seven times.

Probably more, he probably has tesserae.

It might be him.

But it won't be him.

Positive thinking.

The trick is to keep smiling.

He's thirteen.

They almost never choose thirteen year olds.

Almost.

Almost.


	3. Chapter II

** Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d8f_

The day of the usual reaping comes.

They sit on the bedroom floor and brush each other's hair.

One, two, three, four, until they reach one hundred, and then they plait it and smile at themselves in the mirror, twin reflections. Her dress is slightly distorted at the skirt from her fall the other week; that's how they know each other apart. Even after she repaired it the pink thread could still be seen amongst the pattern.

Imperfect.

She's always been imperfect.

They sit for lunch and eat chicken and potatoes, a rare treat.

A knock comes at the door.

* * *

_d11f_

They come for him as he eats lunch with his grandparents and ask for him by a name he no longer uses.

He barely recognises they are asking for him.

His grandmother is crying, _no, no, no, don't take my baby._

All he can do is sit and stare at his plate of beef and roasted carrots.

He's not hungry any more.

He wants to cry.

He's going to die under a title that doesn't fit him.

He's going to die under a name that isn't his.

He's going to die far from home and alone.

He's going to die.

* * *

_d1f_

She's one of the few that asks for it.

They come for her sister, and she's barely fourteen, tested only once, ecstatic but terrified.

"You've been reaped," they say, and her sister looks between their impassive masks while her heart pounds in her chest, because sure, they've trained at Revlon, but that was for the fitness and popularity and beauty, not because they ever wanted this.

"You need to come with us," they say, and her sister begins to cry.

She opens her mouth.

"Can I Volunteer?"

She could.

So they come for her sister, but they leave with her, and the worst part is she doesn't know which is worse.

* * *

_d9f_

She has spent the last two months trying not to panic.

There are eight children in her family, and all of them have tesserae for all of them.

Their odds have always been high.

And now fate might strike at any moment.

It strikes as she breaks up another fight between her brothers and tries to clean up her sister's spilt drink.

She listens to them say her name and walks from the house with her head held high.

She won't give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

* * *

_d2m_

He has trained his entire life.

He would have a good shot at becoming the Chosen tribute next year.

But they come for his neighbour, and he's sixteen, a clumsy, scrawny, weaselly looking boy who cries as they drag him from the house with the District watching.

He's an embarrassment to District Two.

He'll bring shame to their lives.

So he jogs across the street and calls for them, and his neighbour babbles his gratitude, and he ignores him as the car drives away.

He's getting his shot a year early.

He doesn't plan on wasting it.

* * *

_d12f_

She's at school when they come for her, and all her schoolmates get to watch her burst into hysterical tears. Her brother tries to run across the playground to get to her, but she's already being marched through the gates and there's nothing he can do.

There's nothing anyone can do, and she cries harder knowing he's going to have to go home and tell their parents what happened.

She sits in the car, trembling, and no one speaks to her.

She wonders where she will be in two weeks.

* * *

_d4f_

She has always known this day would come.

She doesn't know things any more, not like she once did, but she has always known about this. Once, when she was very little, she had been told it was a nightmare and accepted that, but as the Quell twist was read out on screen she had known.

So she puts on her second best dress (because there's no point wasting her best), and stands at the door to wait. Her mother smiles vacantly and pats her head; her eldest brother calls her to help with the little ones, and the doorbell rings.

She opens the door and steps out. "Are we going then?"


	4. Chapter III

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d7f_

They take her direct to a hovercraft at the train station and she tries to think of what she knows.

She comes up with nothing.

She feels like she's wasted these last few weeks.

She could have practised with an axe, taken a few runs – but instead she'd spent her time reading in the library and doing homework with her friends.

She couldn't have known this was coming.

She stares up at the hovercraft and wonders how long it will take for them to reach the arena.

She wonders who will cut her down.

* * *

_d9m_

He doesn't see his District partner until he's aboard the hovercraft. The Peacekeepers leave them alone, locking them in guest quarters and marching out.

They stand there in silence for a moment, and then she speaks.

"Are you looking for allies?"

"Are you?"

Twenty minutes later he feels the hovercraft come to life and take off.

They don't trust each other, but they won't see the other tributes until they arrive in the arena.

They have no choice.

* * *

_d4m_

His District partner is his best shot at an ally right now, but she's tiny.

"How old are you?" he asks.

"Twelve," she replies.

Twelve.

His District partner is fucking twelve.

What is he meant to do with that?

Maybe the other Career Districts will be in the same situation. He won't even know what their tributes look like until they get into the arena. That's why he wanted an alliance with his District partner.

But _twelve_?

She's going to be the youngest tribute in the arena.

"I can still stab a bitch," she says helpfully.

He smiles.

Maybe this can work out.

* * *

_d12m_

His District partner won't stop crying. It's grating on his nerves, but there's nothing he can do. He paces the guest quarters like a caged animal. They're small but plush, furnished with all the things they don't have in Twelve.

He could have a better chance this year. There's no preparation, all the other tributes are going to be in the same situation.

He sits down next to his District partner. "Hey."

She swallows a sob and blinks wetly at him. "What?"

"You want an alliance?"

* * *

_d1m_

There are plenty of kids in One that would have killed for an opportunity like this.

His District partner looks like she's one of them.

He's not.

He's never set foot in an academy; he's never wanted to. If he won his family would be rich, but if he died they lost his income. So now he sits and waits and thinks of his family back home. The ring burns heavy in his pocket.

His District partner looks at him. "So are we allies?"

He doesn't really know what to say.

She might be able to drive a knife through someone's heart, but he doesn't know if he can.

* * *

_d7m_

He's been working amongst the trees for years, strong and fit.

He's already trying to work out what he needs to do.

He's banking on everyone else being scared and confused; he's banking on everyone else being as lost as he is. He needs to get a weapon, an axe, he needs to get supplies, water.

He needs to run for the cornucopia.

He needs to enter the Bloodbath.

He'd like an ally, but his District partner is a townie, small and hunched over, staring at the floor.

It doesn't matter.

He sits and waits.

* * *

_d10f_

They spend an uncomfortable night on the hovercraft, her in one bunk and him in the other. Food is served on an automatic buffet and they see no other people but each other.

At least she knows she won't be the youngest.

She's lost track of time by the time the hovercraft lands, and the Peacekeepers march them out. She gets a glimpse of other tributes being marched from another two hovercrafts before they're marched across the shining silver hall and through a set of heavy doors.

She tells herself to breathe.

There have been fourteen year old Victors before.


	5. Chapter IV

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d3f_

Everything is bright.

Everything is loud.

Everything is busy.

She hates it.

The Peacekeepers march her through endless corridors, and her legs tremble beneath her.

She knows she must be one of the oldest, but so many of the other tributes look bigger and stronger than her.

She wants to cry, but won't let herself do so.

She feels like she's being marched to her death.

Everything is too bright.

* * *

_d11m_

It felt like the hovercraft trip lasted forever, but the walk through the silver and black halls seems to go far too fast. The Peacekeepers shove him into a decent sized room with a large, glass tube in the back right corner and close the door behind him.

He hears it hiss locked.

Above his head, speakers hiss to life.

"ATTENTION TRIBUTES. IN YOUR PREPARATION ROOMS YOU WILL FIND ONE SET OF ARENA CLOTHING ON THE TABLE ON YOUR LEFT. PLEASE USE THE FOLLOWING TWENTY MINUTES TO PUT IT ON."

Twenty minutes.

Is that all he has?

Twenty minutes, and then he's going to die.

* * *

_d2f_

She's fit and strong and three years too soon.

She dresses in the arena clothes, and they're soft against her skin, cargo pants with deep pockets, a deep green tunic, a waterproof jacket, heavy duty brown boots. She dresses herself, slowly, methodically, and braids her hair tight around her skull. She would have to cut it as soon as she could; it was too long to be practical.

She sips at the glass of water provided, nibbled at the bread roll and fruit laid out, and waits.

She doesn't know what any of the other Career tributes are going to be like, but she has an ally from her District. They have a plan.

They can make it through the bloodbath.

And then come what may.

* * *

_d5m_

"ATTENTION TRIBUTES," comes the announcement. "PLEASE ENTER YOUR TUBES."

So this is it.

The moments before his death.

He forces in one last lungful of air and crosses the room to step into the tube. A door hisses closed and his fate is sealed.

He closes his eyes.

He doesn't want to die.

He thinks of his family at home.

He thinks of whether they'll remember him when he's gone.


	6. Chapter V

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

The tubes rose upwards, and the tributes caught their first glimpse at the arena and the other tributes. They stood in a wide, thirty foot circle around the cornucopia, which was piled high with backpacks, weapons, and supplies.

Behind them, the arena stretched out. Large stones and statues jutted up from the ground around them. In the foggy distance, there were vague, blurry shapes.

The tributes wore black, black shoes, black trousers, black shirts, black jackets. They looked frantically about each other, trying to evaluate threats, pick out their District partners.

The countdown ticked down.

The gong rang.

* * *

_d2m_

He is the first from his podium, racing for the cornucopia. He can't see her, the half trained girl he's ended up with as his ally, but he hopes if she has sense she'll have learnt what to do from the instructors.

Despite his slight head start, he's the second to the cornucopia, behind the boy from Four, who has grabbed up a trident and several backpacks. He takes a broadsword, his own weapon of choice, and hesitates a moment on whether to engage before the boy takes off to the left and he becomes distracted by the girl from Five.

* * *

_d6f_

She doesn't really know what she's doing here, and she can't see her District partner.

There are a few useful pieces close to her and she snatches them up, a canteen of water, a loaf of bread, a plastic sheet, a coil of wire.

Then she runs, as the first tribute falls at the hands of an enormous, dark haired boy.

She runs, and she runs, and she wonders if anyone back home will miss her.

* * *

_d5m_

Most of the other tributes look bigger and stronger and rougher than him, but this is the Quarter Quell and the Hunger Games and he has nothing if he doesn't have any supplies, so he runs while a small girl is spearing down a sallow skinned boy and snags a small backpack, scooping up a knife as he ducks, and then races away past the pedestals and away from the fighting.

He tells himself to run and keep running.

* * *

_d12m_

The world is chaos.

He doesn't know where to look.

He doesn't know where to run.

He sees her, so he runs for her, stooping to snatch up a coil of rope and a knife. She has a small bag and a canteen, and she changes direction to race away from the cornucopia and the death. His legs are longer, and he soon catches up. She's crying again, he sees, but he says nothing.

* * *

_D1m_

He can't understand why anyone would want this.

There's fighting and death all around him.

A small girl and a lanky boy are playing tug of war with a backpack, a tall boy is swinging round a mace; and his District partner has found a spear amongst the supplies, which she drives through the chest of a dark haired girl.

The sight of her reminds him he's a Career.

Or he's meant to be.

He looks at the supplies around him, picks up the weapon nearest, a sword, and rushes at a small, pale girl.

If he does it quickly, he decides, it won't hurt as much.

He's so focused he never sees the boy from Four coming.

* * *

_D9f_

She must never cry, she tells herself, they must never see her cry.

They must never hear her scream.

She sees him cut down and thinks, well, at least she hadn't been counting on him.

She finds a sickle amongst the supplies, and she's familiar with using one even if she's never killed anyone with one before. That soon changes when a dark skinned boy tries to rip it from her hands and she sweeps it at him in a panic, cutting him open from neck to hip.

She wants to scream, but they must never see her scream.

* * *

_D1f_

She sees his corpse and nearly screams, but instead swallows it.

Most of the tributes have fled now, so she stops to search for the largest backpack and scoops one up when she sees it looks suitable.

"Hey! One!" comes a shout, and she spins round, swinging her spear. It's a small, broadshouldered girl with braided hair and beady eyes.

"We allies or what?"

She shifts the weight of the backpack and smiles. "Two or Four?"

"Two, if it matters."

"Allies then."

The girl smiles back.

* * *

_d11m_

He thinks he's safe as he runs.

He's fit and fast, and he thinks there might be somewhere to hide away from the area around the cornucopia.

He keeps running, and then he crashes into someone else.

They crash to the ground, yelling and kicking, and then there's blinding pain in his head and another pain in his side and then nothing at all.


	7. Chapter VI

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_f4m_

He tosses her one of the backpacks once they're a good way away from the cornucopia. She has not, as she put it, stabbed a bitch, but she has found a rapier and several knives, which she now wears around her waist.

The rocks, he sees, aren't rocks, but gravestones. They even have names engraved. She slows to look at one, and he grabs her arm, pulling her on.

"I was looking at that!" she protests.

"We don't have time!"

Every other tribute in this arena is an enemy, even the ones District Four often calls allies.

He just hopes she can, indeed, stab a bitch if she needs to.

* * *

_f3m_

He ran from the cornucopia empty handed, and now he races between the gravestones and tells himself not to fall over his own damn feet.

He doesn't know if there's anyone watching over him, but he does know he doesn't want to die.

So he runs, fleeing into the fog, biting back tears and bile.

* * *

_f12f_

The first cannon makes her jump, but she knows what the second is.

Carefully, shakily, she counts them out.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Seven.

Seven.

Seven dead.

Seven tributes gone already.

None of them were her, but all of them could have been.

"Huh," she hears him say. "I expected it to be a bit smaller than that this year."

She shrugs. She doesn't want to speak, because she might start crying again.

He takes her hand. "Come on. We need to put distance between us and the other tributes."

* * *

_d10f_

She's regretting agreeing to ally with him, but hopefully he might be of some kind of use.

She really, really hopes so.

He's really annoying.

"This place is so creepy."

"We're in the Hunger Games, it's not meant to be fun."

He rolls his eyes.

She wonders if she's allowed to kill him.

(he's right of course the arena is creepy and the gravestones are the worst but she would never tell him that)

* * *

_d7m_

It was one of the other, but he still sees the fear in the other boy's face, the way the light in his eyes had faded.

He'd had to do it, but he still hated it.

He'd didn't know what his intentions had been, for all he knew the boy had intended to kill him if he hadn't-

If he hadn't-

But he still has blood on his hands.

He still tastes the blood in his mouth.

Perhaps that's why he does it.

He had wanted an ally after all, so when he sees the girl, splattered in blood that can't be her own, when she sees him and stops, he doesn't strike first.

Instead, he opens his mouth. "Do you want an alliance?"

* * *

_d2f_

They sort the supplies as the hovercraft comes for the bodies.

There's more than enough, food and water, weapons and blankets, even a few hats, one of which she sticks on his head and laughs when he throws it off.

They're half the size they normally are, but they're still the Career pack.

"Did you see the pair from Four?"

"Not even sure what they look like," replies the girl from One.

"Saw the boy," he grunts. "Ran off. Not worth it."

She nods. Never mind. Four's been touch and go the last few years anyway, at war with itself.

They don't need them.

* * *

_d3f_

She's not sure where she's running to, but she runs, and when she can't run any further she collapses behind one of the gravestones and hopes no one sees her huddled there.

_d4f_

She lets him take the lead.

It won't help her in the long run.

It won't save her.

She has always known this is to be her fate.

If she can though, she'd like to see him win.

He's been nice to her.

* * *

_d8f_

It must be a miracle she escaped the bloodbath, but there has never been a thirteen year old Victor.

She tries not to cry.

_d8m_

He doesn't know what to say to help.

He doesn't know if he wants to.

_d10m_

They sit together as evening draws in and share a breadroll and an orange. She's only a year older, but she feels so much stronger and more mature than him.

He doesn't know the faces that appear in the sky, but he sees the highest placement is eighteen.

"Seventeen of us left," she says.

And it's only day one.


	8. Chapter VII

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

To SongofFete, thank you! This was an experiment for me, and completely different from my usual style, so I'm glad it's working.

* * *

_d1f_

There's only the three of them, so they pack up supplies, gather preferred weapons, and set out altogether.

She's the odd one out, she recognises, and she'll have to be the one to leave eventually. Two is well known for sticking together like glue.

She doesn't regret it though.

She's sixteen – the girl from Two is only fifteen. They haven't seen the pair from Four.

She doesn't want to die, but she loved her sister more.

* * *

_d6f_

She's hungry, and dirty, and wants to be anywhere but here.

She closes her eyes and pretends she's behind the bike sheds instead of this mausoleum.

* * *

_d5m_

He feels lost.

He feels scared.

He feels alone.

He hears them coming.

He tries to run.

The spear pierces him through the back and pins him to the earthy ground.

No one remembers him when he's gone.

* * *

_d8m_

The further they go, the foggier it gets.

He holds tight onto her small backpack.

* * *

_d2m_

Someone must be watching over them, because after they kill the boy from Five they receive a sponsor gift of six warm bread rolls.

They share them and smile, and laugh.

* * *

_d4m_

He wonders if he made the wrong choice during the bloodbath.

* * *

_d10m_

He's sure they're dead when they hear the voices, but it turns out to be a tall, skinny boy and a girl of about their own age.

He's not surprised when she immediately asks them for an alliance.

* * *

_d3f_

She needs water.

She needs food.

She needs rest.

She needs warmth and comfort and guidance.

None come.

* * *

_d8f_

Their alliance of two is now an alliance of four.

She's happy.

* * *

_d2f_

Night is drawing in before they see signs of another tribute.

"There," she says, pointing at the dark smoke in the white fog.

What idiot doesn't know by now not to light a fire, especially in fog?

The girl from Six, as it turns out.

* * *

_d3m_

There are only two faces in the sky tonight.

Neither of them are his, and he's happy with that.


	9. Chapter VIII

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d10f_

They spend the night sleeping in shifts.

It's better than last night, when there was only the two of them and neither of them got enough rest. She doesn't trust any of them, but they're useful at the moment.

* * *

_d9f_

She tries to sleep, but every time she closes her eyes she sees the panic on the boy's face as she cut through his flesh.

Her new ally understands.

He's from Seven, a tall, muscular boy, everything her District partner had not been.

They swallow their fear and bile and set off to hunt in the morning.

* * *

_d12f_

She's woken as he shakes her awake and springs to her feet as the three tributes race across the ground towards them.

They take off, darting around the gravestones, tripping and stumbling over the uneven ground, but his legs are longer than hers and all too quickly there's a sharp pain in her chest and she feels her legs give way.

* * *

_d7m_

They don't find any tributes, but they do find rabbits.

* * *

_d4f_

Most days she doesn't mind not knowing things any more.

She's a bit old for that.

She's grown out of that.

Some days though…

Well, some days, it would be nice.

She fingers her rapier and wonders when it will come.

She wants to face it with her head high.

* * *

_d3m_

He doesn't fight them when they find him.

* * *

_d10m_

She hadn't been much (she hadn't been anything) but she had been home.

He wishes he hadn't let her fall behind and then tells himself he can't afford to think like that if he wants to survive.

He sees another small alliance and considers it for a moment before turning away.

He can't get attached.

* * *

_d9f_

There are thirteen of them left on day two, and three of those kills can be attributed to the pair of them.

She doesn't know whether to feel proud or disgusted.

* * *

_d1f_

Night falls, and another two faces appear in the sky.

She wonders if her sister would have made it this far.

She's glad she never has to find out.


	10. Chapter IX

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d8f_

Her cannon fires on the fourth day.

Perhaps the Gamemakers have grown bored of their little alliance shying away from other tributes and scavenging for food, because she falls, not to another tribute, but to an arena trap as the small fox and squirrel like creatures they have seen over the past few days suddenly grow vicious with fangs and claws.

* * *

_d10m_

It feels like reality in that moment.

He watches her blood stain the dark ground and screams.

She slaps a hand over his mouth and drags him away.

* * *

_d2m_

"Top twelve."

They grin and laugh and high five. They're a quarter of the remaining tributes, not a half like the Careers usually are, but it's a good position.

Of course, he wants to be higher than that.

They all do.

But only one of them can have it.

He sees the look the girl from One gives them.

* * *

_D8m_

She's gone but he stays with the pair from Ten, because they're better company that nothing.

The boy's a naïve nightmare, but there's a hardness to the girl that reminds him of his older sister.

So they eat together that night and he tries not to think of her screams.

* * *

_d4m_

He never wanted to enter the arena, but he's here now, with a girl no older than his brother.

They've been hunting, but they've found nothing, so they stop as night draws in.

"I wish I knew you'd be okay," she says as she curls up at his side.

He frowns. "What's that meant to mean?"

She falls asleep with a smile on her lips.

He sits watch until the night is dark and the moon is high.


	11. Chapter X

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d2f_

They wake early and set off. She's tired and stiff, but she can't back down and be seen as weak. She's three years early, but she can't let that bother her.

She needs to be strong and tough and bold.

And some day soon, they need to get rid of the girl from One.

Maybe when there's a few less tributes.

* * *

_d10f_

They kill a few of the squirrel mutt things.

They taste pretty good.

* * *

_d4f_

She knows.

She doesn't know where it comes from, she doesn't know how – maybe it's because she's about to die – but she _knows_.

Part of her wishes she didn't.

* * *

_d3f_

She's been hiding away in the mausoleum all day.

They find her anyway.

* * *

_d10m_

He doesn't know the girl in the sky, but he cries anyway.

* * *

_d8m_

He wonders if a normal Games would have been any better.

He doesn't think it would.

Although he might have had some better allies.

The boy won't stop crying, and the girl keeps scowling at him.

He tells himself his odds are higher than theirs, and wonders if he can kill them in their sleep.


	12. Chapter XI

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d4m_

She's been… odder since they woke.

There's a strangeness to her expression, a wide eyed wonder to her eyes, a wildness to her posture.

He's almost tempted to snap his fingers in front of her face.

Then they run into more tributes.

They're both older, one wearing the seal of District Seven, the other of District Nine.

He holds his trident a little tighter and she draws her rapier.

They charge.

They hold their ground.

The boy takes the first swing.

* * *

_d9f_

There are two, which makes it harder, but one is a little girl, no older than some of her siblings. She tries not to see her sister there as she swings her sickle, but the girl has already moved. She moves to cut her off and swings again.

Again the girl has moved, this time lashing out with her narrow sword. It cuts a narrow gash across her arm, and she resisted the urge to cry, swinging again. She can't be this fast, how is she moving like that?

She swings again-

And pain explodes in her throat.

That narrow sword has pierced from front to back, and she can see her own fear reflected in the girl's pale eyes.

* * *

_d7m_

He runs, and he tries not to be ashamed of it.

* * *

_d2m_

Another two tributes and they're down to ten. Only one of those kills was theirs though; he wonders who the second was.

And he eyes the girl from One.

She eyes him back.

* * *

_d1f_

Not tonight, she decides.

Not tonight, but tomorrow.

Maybe there will be even less tributes by then.

Maybe she can take one of them out in the night.

Maybe one of them will already be dead.

She smiles.

* * *

_d10f_

She wakes to screams and reaches for her knife.

There's blood, so much blood, and the boy from Eight is trying again to bring his knife down on her District partner's chest.

She rolls to her knees and drives her blade into his leg. He screams and nearly brings his down on her head before she tackles him around the knees, bringing him to the ground.

They roll, scrabbling for dominance, and he's bigger, stronger, lankier, but she's determined, desperate, and she drives the knife into him wherever she can reach until he stops moving.


	13. Chapter XII

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d12m_

The cannon wakes him.

Another tribute gone.

He wonders when it will be his turn.

* * *

_d4f_

She knows she's scaring him.

She doesn't know how to stop.

It's like seeing the world through new eyes.

When she sleeps she dreams queer dreams.

She hates it.

* * *

_d2f_

She's not surprised when she wakes in the morning and finds only one of her allies instead of both.

* * *

_d1f_

It felt like a good time to get out.

There are only nine of them now, and if there had been more in the Career alliance perhaps she'd have worked out an alliance but she won't be able to drive a wedge between the Twos, so she leaves alone, cursing her District partner for being such a useless coward.

She runs for as long as she can run to put distance between them, and then slows to a walk.

She's made it this far.

She tells herself she can do this.

* * *

_d10m_

It hurts, it hurts so much.

She patches him up as best she can, and they limp away from their former campsite.

He doesn't know that she won't finish him off, but he's not well enough to turn on her.

* * *

_d12m_

The day passes with no more cannons. As night draws in, another face appears in the sky. He eats the last of his food, drinks the last of his water, and hopes he can find more in the morning.

* * *

_d7m_

His arm is turning purple where the boy he tried to fight cut him. Poison or infection? He isn't sure. He had tried boiling water to treat it, but it hasn't helped.

He needs out of here soon.

* * *

_d2m_

They don't bother hunting for her.

They'll meet again soon enough, if she makes it far enough.

No more deaths come that day, and he takes first watch for the night.

They'll find someone tomorrow.

* * *

_D2f_

It's harder with just the two of them, but they're Careers even if they're less and younger than usual. They strike true, and then there are eight of them.

* * *

_D4f_

He's been nice to her.

She hopes he won't cry for her.

She hopes she's right.


	14. Chapter XIII

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d10f_

He's getting worse, feverish and delirious. She's surprised he makes the night. She's enjoyed having him with her, but they aren't friends – they can't be – and this is cruel.

She draws her knife and he begs, pleads, but she points out he's dying.

She wouldn't have left a calf in this condition, let alone a human being.

She kisses his head and holds him tight.

Tears warm her face and his cannon rings.

* * *

_d2f_

Seven of them left, and the fog has spent the last day creeping over the entire arena. They're looking forward to a District Two Victory, but the ground is groaning and shifting beneath their feet, and _things_ are punching through. She screams and they run, but they're grabbing at them and her last consolation is that it can still be a District Two Victory.

* * *

_d4m_

They run, and even though he shouldn't he finds himself holding to her arm to make sure she keeps up until they can climb one of the mausoleums to where it's safe.

She stares down at the mutts with those pale eyes of hers and a strange look on her face.

"What is it?"

"They're so sad."

* * *

_d7m_

He's too weak from infection when the mutts drive them together, and even though she's smaller and thinner she drives her knife through his neck and he's not sure if she cries for him.

* * *

_D10f_

She doesn't know how she's ever meant to face her siblings again.

* * *

_D4f_

He wakes her with a hard shake and looks at her with wild eyes. She's already on her feet, gazing up at the moon.

"You could have warned me you sleepwalk."

"I don't."

But the moon had felt welcoming, and she wants it.


	15. Chapter XIV

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

* * *

_d1f_

They announce a feast, and the terrible, rotting mutts with their gaping mouths and rotting fingers drive them there, shambling after them over the dry ground. They're a mess, a shambles, and as three of them race for the new podiums around the cornucopia, she sets her eyes on the tiny girl in blue. She's let her ally go ahead, and although she's holding a sword, she doesn't expect she'll be much of a challenge.

She's not.

But as she drives her sword through her chest, she seizes the blade, yanking it deeper. She gasps, stumbling, and falls straight into the girl's own blade.

* * *

_d4m_

He sees her fall, sees her take the blonde with her, hears the cannons ring, and he runs.

It hurts more than he ever thought it would.

* * *

_d2m_

They've sent him food, and a new short sword and shield. He traces the edge of it.

Three of them left.

Soon would be the finale.


	16. Chapter XV

**Author's Note**

I do not own the Hunger Games.

And here we are at the end of this!

* * *

They've all killed people.

They've all got blood on their hands.

A day passes to give them time to rest, time for the audience to get pumped up.

They eat their remaining food and drink their remaining water and prepare their weapons.

* * *

They're woken early the next morning by those terrible shambling mutts. They're not out to kill, for the audience doesn't want that, but they force them onwards, driving them back together.

The boy from Two and the girl from Ten are the first to meet and he rushes at her with his sword raised. She springs away from him, but she's armed with knives and a mace, and he's bigger than her.

Her saving grace comes, surprisingly, in the form of the boy from Four, who takes him down with his trident and a yell, blood spraying across the dark ground. She screams as his body falls at her feet and dives to seize his sword.

The boy from Four raises his hands, _I don't want to hurt you_ – they edit that out – and she rushes him, screaming, desperate.

He doesn't want to kill her, but he doesn't want to die.

Her body falls and her cannon rings.


End file.
